says my
father.--"Marriage licence," says the touter.--"Dash my veskit," says my
father, "I never thought o' that."--"I think you wants one, Sir," says
the touter. My father pulls up, and thinks a bit--"No," says he, "damme,
I'm too old, b'sides, I'm a many sizes too large," says he.--"Not a bit
on it, Sir," says the touter.--"Think not?" says my father.--"I'm
sure not," says he; "we married a gen'l'm'n twice your size, last
Monday."--"Did you, though?" said my father.--"To be sure, we did," says
the touter, "you're a babby to him--this way, sir--this way!"--and sure
enough my father walks arter him, like a tame monkey behind a horgan,
into a little back office, vere a teller sat among dirty papers, and tin
boxes, making believe he was busy. "Pray take a seat, vile I makes out
the affidavit, Sir," says the lawyer.--"Thank'ee, Sir," says my father,
and down he sat, and stared with all his eyes, and his mouth vide
open, at the names on the boxes. "What's your name, Sir," says the
lawyer.--"Tony Weller," says my father.--"Parish?" says the lawyer.
"Belle Savage," says my father; for he stopped there wen he drove up,
and he know'd nothing about parishes, he didn't.--"And what's the lady's
name?" says the lawyer. My father was struck all of a heap. "Blessed if
I know," says he.--"Not know!" says the lawyer.--"No more nor you do,"
says my father; "can't I put that in arterwards?"--"Impossible!" says
the lawyer.--"Wery well," says my father, after he'd thought a moment,
"put down Mrs. Clarke."--"What Clarke?" says the lawyer, dipping his pen
in the ink.--"Susan Clarke, Markis o' Granby, Dorking," says my father;
"she'll have me, if I ask. I des-say--I never said nothing to her, but
she'll have me, I know." The licence was made out, and she DID have
him, and what's more she's got him now; and I never had any of the four
hundred pound, worse luck. Beg your pardon, sir,' said Sam, when he had
concluded, 'but wen I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like a new
barrow with the wheel greased.' Having said which, and having paused for
an instant to see whether he was wanted for anything more, Sam left the
room.

'Half-past nine--just the time--off at once;' said the gentleman, whom
we need hardly introduce as Mr. Jingle.

'Time--for what?' said the spinster aunt coquettishly.

'Licence, dearest of angels--give notice at the church--call you mine,
to-morrow'--said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the spinster aunt's hand.

'The lic